For the Sake of His Honor

"Agreed. Take care, sweetie."

"You, too, honey."

And Elizabeth hung up the phone and moved back into the bathroom, eager for the test results, and emerged from that same room moments later, suddenly greatly wearied and clutching a small white stick that very clearly stated its results: negative.

* * *

"Mrs. Ross," the specialist said, "I'm afraid I have some difficult news."

The office of Dr. Franklin Ames was small and white, and the walls were covered by more than two dozen plaques and placards. He was one of the foremost fertility specialists in the country (if not the world) and came very highly recommended.

Elizabeth grew very still and could feel her heart pounding beneath her breast. "Tell me," she said finally, steeling herself and strengthening her resolve.

"One of the tests we ran on your husband yielded abnormal results," the doctor said in carefully measured words, slowly and clearly, "and in such a case there can be only one conclusion. I'm afraid, Mrs. Ross, that your husband is sterile."

"Sterile," she repeated, the word like ash in her mouth.

The doctor nodded. "I'm afraid so," he said again.

"Which means what exactly?" Elizabeth asked, knowing already the answer.

"He cannot have children."

Elizabeth could feel her ears burning and her face flush. "And me?" she asked in a small voice. "What about me?"

"You are fine, Mrs. Ross," the man said quickly, "perfectly healthy and very fertile, in fact."

"Is it treatable? My husband's condition, I mean."

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid there is no known cure. The research is still several years off, at least. I'm very sorry."

And so Elizabeth left the office of her doctor, one question rolling endlessly through her mind: how exactly to phrase the words that would crush the dreams of the man she loved, a man who wanted children more than anything else.

But when she arrived home, she did so without any answers.

* * *

Harrison Ross was feeling pretty good about himself. The work day had been a particularly successful one, Monday night football was on television once he got back to his condominium and his wife would be waiting there for him, too, hopefully with some good news about a baby.

He desperately wanted to have children and believed he would make an excellent father, providing for his offspring but also grounding them with good values and morals, building their character, steering their goals and dreams and decisions, and definitely not making some of the same mistakes his parents had made.

He unlocked the door and entered the condo, and found his wife sitting quietly on the sofa. He instantly knew something was wrong and he had a pretty good idea what it was; it seemed they would likely need to keep trying.

"Baby?" he asked as he took a seat next to her.

Her eyes were puffy and it was clear she had been crying, but despite the tracks of her tears and the slightly haggard look his wife was still one breathtaking woman.

"I saw the doctor today," she said quietly.

"I know," Harrison said soothingly. "What did he say?"

There was great struggle on her face. She was wrestling with something, he could see, and her eyes began to mist over as the weight of it took its toll. He put his arm around her shoulder and waited patiently.

"I'm not pregnant," she said finally.

Harrison smiled, trying his best to put as much comfort as he could in the expression. "That's alright, baby," he said. "We'll keep trying. We've got tonight and the rest of our lives. Babies will come, I know it."

She turned to him then, her eyes filled with so much sadness it wrenched his heart to see it, and started to speak, but stopped herself and lowered her head instead, and started to cry. Her shoulders trembled with each gentle sob.

"I can't do it," she moaned.

Harrison pulled her all the way into his arms and she clutched him tightly. "Yes, you can, baby," he whispered. "We can do this. We can do this together. It's only a matter of time."

While he was quite unhappy to see her upset, there was a small place inside Harrison that was excited to know she was as eager as he to have children, and that something as minor as a one-month setback (albeit on the heels of ten months of failure) could bring about such an emotional reaction. He meant what he said, however; it was only a matter of time.

And then she raised her head and their eyes met again, and for a long moment he looked into those bright green pools, swimming and nearly drowning there, and he watched as they went from troubled and clearly conflicted to calm and at peace, much like the sun might emerge from the clouds to bring everything into focus.

Whatever her issues, she had resolved them.

"Make love to me," she whispered softly, her voice so vulnerable it caused an ache in his heart than matched beat for beat the sudden blazing heat in his loins.

And so Harrison helped her to her feet and removed every stitch of her clothes, item by item, inch by inch, until the whole of her glorious body was revealed, and he lay her down on the long and gentle fibers of their living room rug and wasted little time savoring the taste of her body from lips to knees, and every space between.

And when she was thoroughly aroused, her nipples shriveled and hard upon her rounded breasts, the flatness of her stomach trembling with need, her legs wavering and the pretty pink lips of her pussy quivering, Harrison took his place between those legs and leveled his cock right at the entrance to that pussy, and slowly pushed himself inside.

She was ungodly tight and oven-hot, and he could feel her muscles milking his shaft, and the view looking down at her, breasts cupped by and spilling out through the cracks in her delicate fingers, lovely blonde hair like a nest around her head and those gorgeous eyes evergreen, and ever watchful.

Oh, yes, Harrison thought, life was pretty good.

Part Two: Lunch and Lost Time

Jacob Grant could not remember a time when he felt as nervous as he was at present. His heart was pounding, his ears were burning and his palms had that sticky sort of feeling. He rarely got nervous in any way anymore, having long ago conquered the bouts of shyness and low self-confidence issues plaguing his high school years, but his present emotional state represented a serious dose of regression.

It was easy to understand why.

Every person in the world can look back on their youth and name the one individual who impacted their growth more than any other. For some, that person is a teacher. For others, a parent or sibling. For most men, that person is a female. For most men, that female is gorgeous.

For Jacob, that female was Elizabeth Beamer.

He was in high school when he first saw her, the hot friend of his older sister, the classic college sorority girl, gorgeous and utterly unattainable. Elizabeth and his sister, Alexis, students at the University of Texas at Austin a few short miles from the Grant household, had dropped by to frolic around the pool, which is probably why his first sight of her created such a lasting impression: tiny black bikinis covering hardly any flesh have a tendency to do that.

She was glorious: flowing blonde hair, sultry green eyes and a willowy figure that defied logic in so many ways. Her skin was golden brown and glistening, and the picture of perfection.

She was only a freshman in college then, which meant Jacob was privy to four years of her glory. He was two years younger, but seemed worlds apart from the luscious girl from Southern California. When it came time for college himself, he spent two years at a local community college, and one of the main reasons for his choice was to remain in close proximity to Elizabeth. When she graduated and moved back to Los Angeles, it was one of the darkest days of his life.

That had been four years ago, however, and Jacob had done much to move on. While his thoughts still sidled over images of Elizabeth on occasion, he was no longer truly obsessed with her. At twenty-four, he was very much grown up.

At least, he thought he was, but now here he was feeling like some virginal high schooler who had no idea what to do or how to act around girls. He would have to pull himself together, he told himself, or Elizabeth would think he was a moron.

He pulled up to the restaurant, a ritzy little café called the Apple Dish, and tossed his keys to the valet. He was an aspiring actor, yes, but not without means; much of his savings had made the trip with him, and he planned to enjoy himself.

And so he went inside and searched the crowd for her, and saw her sitting alone at one of the tables, and one memory above all else flashed through his mind: a stolen glance at glistening flesh, an unsuspecting Elizabeth naked and glorious and fresh from the shower, toweling herself off in the guest bathroom.

Jacob would have to walk very carefully across the room, lest anyone notice the sudden bulge in his jeans. When last he saw her, Elizabeth had been a soon-to-be college graduate, fresh-faced and eager, and beautiful, and four years had not dimmed her beauty one bit. In fact, the time had only increased it. Elizabeth Beamer was everything he remembered, and more.

She was distinctly feminine, her blonde hair tasteful and sophisticated, layered and colored and past her shoulders. Her face was gorgeous, her skin flawless, her make-up pristinely applied and perfectly understated. She wore a light beige sundress, cut square in front with straps over the shoulders, which off-set the deeper gold of her tan and displayed abundant, yet somehow classy-looking cleavage. She was, in a word, incredible.

And then she saw him and smiled, brilliant emerald eyes sparkling, pearly white teeth shining, and the splendor and power of her expression could have solved energy issues the world over.

And so Jacob did the only thing he could: he took a deep breath and walked to her on wavering legs, and he could feel his heart pounding and his face burning as he did so.

The woman of his dreams was before him again.

* * *

Elizabeth had not really known what to expect.

The last time she saw Jacob Grant was four years earlier: she was graduating from college, he was just about to start another year of junior college, somewhat gangly but kind of cute, very shy, and an all-around nice guy. He had been unable to go her wedding (he was invited along with the rest of the Grant household, whom she thought of as her second family) and the few times she had visited Texas, he had been away at school. Thus, she did not have any clue what he would look like, knowing well how much four years (particularly those of the early twenties) could change a person.

Still, she was blown away.

She recognized the handsome man walking her way, could see in the shape of his face and the set of his eyes the unmistakable signs of Grant ancestry, but in those subtle clues the resemblance to the boy she had known four years ago ended: gone was the moppy black hair, gone were the glasses; gone were the scrawny, gangly limbs and maladroit posture, and stilted movements; gone was the mismatched and oversized wardrobe, the acne and awkwardness. In their place was six-foot-three inches, two hundred ten pounds of muscular confidence with fashionable clothes, styled jet black hair and sharp, searing gray eyes.

She smiled winningly at him when she saw him, but behind her composed outward façade lay another thought altogether: simply stated, Jacob Grant was a hunk.

Elizabeth rose to her feet and embraced him when he arrived, saying, "Oh my goodness, Jacob! Look at you! You're hot!"

She was delighted to see him blush and lower his eyes. It had always amused her, the crush she had known Jacob had on her. She had teased him a little and tantalized and teased him more than he probably deserved, and his cute little liking of her had stoked her ego quite a bit at important times, and for that she would always be thankful for even if he never knew it. She wondered fleetingly if he still harbored any feelings for her now, four years later.

"Hello, Elizabeth," he said in a deep and inherently manly voice. Even his voice was different, and much improved; no more squeaks, it seemed. "You're just as beautiful as I remember."

It was her turn to blush. "Flattery, sir, will get you everywhere," she told him as they took their seats. "Seriously, though, Jacob, it's so good to see you. It's been a long time."

"Yes," he agreed. "Four years."

"Amazing," she breathed. "A lot has happened since then."

He nodded. "You got married," he said, and she wondered at the softness of his words.

Deflecting, she nodded. "You became an actor!"

He grinned. "I did," he admitted, "and now here I am, arrived in Hollywood."

"Quite a long way from Austin," she said with a smile.

"True," he agreed, "but the silver lining is now I'm much closer to you."

And while Elizabeth waxed cheerful from the subtly sweet flirtatious of words, another voice broke up their conversation, a lovely voice that was musical and markedly southern.

"Hi there," the voice said, and Elizabeth turned to find a lovely young blonde woman standing over them, a bright smile on her face. She spoke again after a moment and her soft southern drawl was unmistakable. "My name's Amberly and I'll be your server today. What would y'all like to drink?"

"Water, please," replied Elizabeth.

Jacob answered, "The same, thank you."

And then they were alone again and the conversation resumed, and Elizabeth found herself drawn more and more into his words, very interested in the story of his past four years to degrees much greater than she had expected to be, and also she found herself entranced by the movement of his lips and the thin layer of stubble across his face. He was rugged and ruggedly handsome, and yet somehow so very well put together.

They were halfway through the meal, engrossed in a discussion about the relationship between politics and entertainment, when his phone rang.

He flipped it open. "My girlfriend," Jacob said, checking it. He answered and spoke briefly into the receiver, then flipped the phone closed. "She's right outside."

And then the girlfriend was no longer outside, she was inside and approaching the table, and Elizabeth saw for the first time just how far Jacob Grant had come: his girlfriend was absolutely exquisite. The girl had blonde hair so bright it was nearly blinding, eyes as blue as the sky on a summer day, a gorgeous face, and a killer body.

"Elizabeth," Jacob said, rising to his feet, "I'd like you to meet Madison Mayfield. Maddie, this is Elizabeth Beamer, an old friend of my sister's."

Elizabeth smiled sweetly, an expression returned in equal measure by Madison. Whatever else the girl might be, she was very friendly and nice, and Elizabeth liked her instantly. "It's Ross now," she corrected, "and I'm not too old and don't you forget it. I'm very pleased to meet you, Madison."

The girl had a beautiful voice, too. "Aww, thanks sweetie," she cooed, and from her accent it was quite clear she hailed from Texas. Pure Texas panhandle, musical and womanly.

And so the nature and breadth and depth of their discussion changed dramatically thereafter as Jacob was forced to pay significant attention to his significant other, and Elizabeth received far fewer of the subtle flirtatious comments and compliments. She did not mind, though, really; in fact, she thought, it was probably for the best.

In the end, after more than two hours of conversation replete with laughs and reminisces and understated glances, and even a brief and well-timed phone call from Alexis, Elizabeth took leave of the young man and young woman with an individual hug for each, and she could not help but notice the soft fleshy feel of the breasts of the latter and the strong, sure shoulders and arms of the former, and as she was walking away she wondered if there was a more attractive couple anywhere in the city, which in Los Angeles was truly saying something.

And although she did not know it yet, deep in the mind of Elizabeth Ross was planted the seed that would eventually grow to bear a very unconventional and exceptional kind of fruit.

* * *

Jacob ripped off his shirt, buttons flying. He did not care, however, about the buttons; he was achingly hard and desperate for action, and there was nubile and willing female flesh before him ready to satisfy his every carnal desire.

The bright blue eyes of Madison Mayfield twinkled as she crossed her arms down and stripped her blouse up and over her head. She was not wearing a bra (she made him aware of it subtlety during lunch) and her ample breasts plopped down into their excellent places, firm mountains of D-cup goodness that jiggled enticingly, the shriveled pink nipples delectable-looking.

The girl was fantastic and had easily won over Jacob with her rare mix of beauty and personality, and while he knew he was no slouch himself in those areas, he still thanked fortune every day for dropping such a goddess into his lap. A goddess who loved to fuck, no less.

Jacob licked his lips, which was a clear sign of his desire to taste her and pleasure her with his mouth, but she shook her head fiercely, pointed at his jeans and said, "I've got other plans."

And with that she shimmied out of her skirt, taking her panties with it, leaving her naked but for a pair of thin white socks still covering her feet. Her body was glorious, curved in all the right places but very athletic; she was a former gymnast whose figure had blossomed too much to continue competing, but she still maintained much of the physical fitness that went along with the sport. She flopped down onto the bed, spread her legs wide to display with breathtaking agility her glistening pink pussy, grinned lewdly, and waited.

Jacob wasted no time and his jeans soon followed his shirt to the floor. He vaulted onto the bed and Madison squealed, surprised by his exuberance but thrilled by it, too. She did not have time to think, however; his lips snared hers as his weight fell upon her, his hand immediately between his legs and guiding his cock to its heavenly sheath.

Her hands cupped his buttocks and pulled him closer, and her eyes widened and her breath caught as the mushroom head slipped inside her, and she giggled and hooked her feet up around and behind his neck, plunging him deeper.

She moaned. "Oh my god," she cooed, "you're so fucking big!"

And then he was thrusting and her hips were bucking and the fuck rhythm was developed, and the squishing sound as his cock gouged out her pussy echoed through the air.

Jacob clutched the juicy cheeks of her rump, lifting her up off the mattress until only her shoulders remained, her back curved lewdly and her stomach bunched up on itself. He watched as his thick meat stretched her puffy lips wide and her heavenly breasts jiggled and bounced in time with each vicious downward stroke.

She whimpered and her fingers took hold of her tits, caressing them and tweaking the nipple, in part to pleasure, in part to keep them from bouncing so wildly, and she grinned wickedly up at him, knowing how much he enjoyed the sight of a woman touching herself.

And then she began to tremble, a tremor that began at the tips of her toes and spread through the whole of her frame as she neared her climax, her moans broken only by the occasional gasp, until finally she came, her legs squeezing tighter around his neck, threatening to strangle him, her body wracked by vibrations for several endless moments before it relaxed.

And then and only then did Jacob let himself go, and no sooner had the girl melted into the bed, her legs slipping limply from his shoulders to fall lewdly back to the mattress, than he pulled his cock from her velvety depths and erupted, painting her tits and stomach with his creamy seed.